


Seeking Sanctuary

by A_J_Crowley



Series: The Good Book Of Omens [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel & Demon Interactions, Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Comedy, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Flustered Crowley (Good Omens), Funny, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Misunderstandings, Oblivious, Oblivious Angel, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Sexual Humor, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), dog collar, frightened crowley, ineffiable idiots, not nsfw, unexpected gift from madame tracey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-20 01:43:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20667236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_J_Crowley/pseuds/A_J_Crowley
Summary: When Crowley and Aziraphale are roped into celebrating their first birthday party on Earth, Aziraphale receives an unusual package from Madame Tracy. With the angel oblivious to the gift's true purpose, a terrified Crowley seeks sanctuary at Anathema's cottage... but it does not take long for Aziraphale to track down the runaway demon.Hilarious antics ensure.Featuring an oblivious angel and an extremely flustered serpent.





	Seeking Sanctuary

**Author's Note:**

> Please note:
> 
> This fic is intended as a comedy, with implied sexual content - but it is NOT nsfw (No smut here, folks-sorry)!  
It is, however, marked as 'mature' - as it contains implied mention of adult themes & items - obliviously misconstrued by these two ineffable dorks! :)

Crowley, for the most part, was having a rather good day. One of the best, in fact - _though he was loathed to admit it_ \- in perhaps the last century.

He sat beside Aziraphale in a warm column of autumn sunshine pooling through the window of Anathema’s Tadfield residence, surrounded by the quiet lull of friendly conversation. 

He had never celebrated his birthday before; partly because he was not so much as born, rather than created; and, when he had, the concept of definable dates had not been invented yet.

Of course, when Adam had uprooted the tragic discovery just last week, he was in a firm mind to resolve the issue immediately.

Their invitation to the cottage for a ‘long-overdue party’ had arrived on Aziraphale’s doorstep on Monday, loaded with enough glitter and confetti that the poor angel had spent the better part of the afternoon trying to pick it clear from his waistcoat and jacket. Crowley, needless to say, found the entire debacle amusing, but at least _tried_ to hide his smile of glee at Aziraphale’s efforts.

Now, after a very pleasant afternoon spent gorging themselves on cake and spread, the angel and demon lounged comfortably in the hollows of Anathema’s cottage, Aziraphale sniffing emotionally as he sifted through a pile of handmade cards thoughtfully crafted by the Them. Crowley could sense the angel’s feelings, pure and so very _touched_, at the notion of being surrounded by people that actually _cared_ for them; far more than their respective bosses had ever had. It itched beneath his skin; the outpouring of love from Aziraphale threatening to overwhelm him, but Crowley simply blinked the mist from his eyes and sighed.

_Yes – it had been a rather good day, after all. _

“Oh, thank you all so very much, my dears!” Aziraphale chimed, derailing Crowley’s train of thought. He leaned forward, prodding a gentle elbow into Anthony’s side to catch his attention.

The demon nodded, letting his glasses slide down the bridge of his nose as he shifted his gaze to the small group of humans.

“S’much appreciated.” He offered, not particularly good at expressing his thanks. If Hell had ever heard him saying such things, they’d likely have taken his tongue there and then.

“It’s no problem!” Adam beamed as the Them nodded in collective agreement. “I thought it was terribly harsh for you both to have missed out on over six thousand birthdays! Might as well start making up for it now and have at least one!”

Aziraphale smiled, and, for a moment, it looked as though he might burst into tears. Anathema, noticing the pink hue creeping into the angel’s sodden eyes, swiftly rose from her seat.

“Alright,” she said, clearly eager to stop the angel from crying. “we’ve got a couple of small surprises for you two. It’s nothing much, but we couldn’t let you leave here without a few gifts… From all of us.”

The young witch motioned to Newt, who got up and hurriedly followed her out of the room. They returned a minute later, arms laden with several small, coloured packages. They set them down on the table.

Aziraphale looked truly flabbergasted.

“Presents? For us?” He turned to Crowley, who was already sat upright, blinking at the parcels with childish anticipation. “Really, you all shouldn’t have…”

“You helped us save the world, it’s the least we could do.” sighed Pepper, folding her arms across her chest, almost stubbornly. “Now shut up and open them already!”

It didn’t take long for the parcels to find themselves unwrapped. Aziraphale seemed quite taken aback throughout the entire experience, and now sat rather proudly with a new plaid scarf draped around his neck.

Crowley rolled his eyes, instead focusing on the small, clear ball of resin he wiggled between his fingers. Inside was a tiny angel, perched almost sacredly, safe and protected within the clear walls of the sphere.

“That’s an angel stone.” whispered Anathema hesitantly. “They sell them at the local bookstore. I don’t know what you were before you… fell...” she paused, then added quickly. “But it’s meant to keep you safe. Remind you what you were, and what you still are, deep down… Besides, it kind of reminded me of Aziraphale.”

She pointed to the stunned angel with a knowing quirk of her lip. “Now, you can carry a little bit of _him_ with you.”

This time, it was Crowley’s turn to feel flustered. He hastily scrubbed a hand over his face, as if to scour the pink from his cheeks and sap the buds of moisture from his eyes.

Aziraphale quirked his head, perplexed by the demon’s reaction.

“So...” breathed Anathema, trying not to giggle at the oblivious angel. She reached down and slid a large box out from underneath the table. “This is the last gift. It’s from Madame Tracy. She and Shadwell are away on their honeymoon, as you know, but she asked that I pass it on.”

The occultist pushed the parcel over to Aziraphale, who admired it curiously and immediately set about trying to pry off the lid. Anathema lunged to stop him, casting a watchful eye at the Them who had taken to reading a few issues of the New Aquarian in a cosy corner of the room. They seemed oblivious to the happenings at the table now that their presents had been opened, but Anathema wasn’t going to take any chances.

“I’d look into that somewhere a little more private.” She whispered, winking at Aziraphale, who appeared even more confused than before. “You know how she can be.”

“They _are_ an odd couple.” mumbled Crowley, his attention still focused on the little stone in his hand. “Shadwell’s gift to me was box of matches and a note. _‘Use in case of emergencies’_, it said. I’ve known that man for over forty years, and I’m still asking; what the hell does that even mean?!”

There was laughter and the vague settling of humour. Aziraphale took the box and stowed it between his feet, noting with vague curiosity to uncover it later when they were back at the bookshop.

***

The rest of the evening had passed by in a seamless blur of laughter, music and drinks… the latter becoming a little more potent once the Them had been summoned back to their homes for dinner.

Both Aziraphale and Crowley had left the cottage feeling rather lightheaded, but, after a quick miracle, the unlikely pair had been returned safely (and noticeably more sober), back to Soho.

Crowley now lay sprawled across an armchair in the back of the angel’s bookstore, lost in his reminiscing of the day, while Aziraphale set about unpacking his small collection of trinkets onto the shelves. He felt so fortunate in those moments; to have forged such wonderous friendships with bright, understanding humans; that he barely registered the mystery present from Madame Tracy tucked within his grasp.

Quirking a sceptical brow, he glanced over his shoulder. The demon was still comfortably engrossed in the matter of his own thoughts, but Aziraphale was curious. Wiggling off the lid with as much care as he could muster, he hazarded a peek into the box.

The sight he was met with made him take a tentative step back. There were a few items inside, all of which were met with unfathomable confusion. Some of them even looked like they were designed specifically for the humans' pets, and Aziraphale began to wonder with fearful apprehension whether there might be a surprise hellhound pup hiding somewhere within the bookstore. No doubt Crowley’s idea should it be so.

But the demon showed no sign of deception. Aziraphale would have known if he’d been planning anything – Crowley was utterly terrible at keeping secrets and would likely have broken hours ago without so much as a questioning look from the angel.

Moving to peer over the box, Aziraphale reached in and snatched up a small scrap of paper he hadn’t noticed before. It was a note from Madame Tracy.

_‘Just a little something to help you tame that unruly demon of yours. Enjoy. From your friend. T.’_

The angel quirked an innocent smile.

_That woman truly loves her riddles,_ he thought sweetly, replacing the note and picking up what looked very much like a dark, leather dog collar. He eyed it for a moment before concluding that it was surely some sort of psychic-issued accessory.

_Perhaps it was meant to bestow calm feelings onto its wearer in the same way some heavenly artefacts did to angels?_

It would make sense, then, for it to be intended for Crowley, given the _‘tame’_ bit.

As quietly as he could, Aziraphale crossed the threshold of the bookstore, making a subtle beeline toward the demon. With careful hands, he unclasped the buckle, and, stooping down, fastened the collar around Crowley’s scrawny neck. Anthony gave a small start at the unexpected pressure, twisting irritably in his seat.

“What the heck are you doing, angel—”

He choked, his face flushing of all colour until it was as pale as Heaven’s ethereal plateau. He put a hand to his throat, tracing the rough curves and chains of the collar in horror before glowering up at the angel who looked stupidly pleased with himself.

“Madame Tracy sent it to us, but I believe this one’s for you.” He smiled nonchalantly, pointing toward the box sitting like a tombstone on his desk. “She said it would help to tame you.”

“Oh, Satan…” Crowley croaked, clearly too flustered to form much else than a pitiful whine of embarrassment. He glared at Aziraphale, who was beaming like a purring cat that had just trapped a particularly troublesome mouse under his paws.

“Oh, fuc—”

***

Anathema had not expected any further guests that day. She was perched at the kitchen table, reading an interesting article on water divining, when she heard a rustling whoosh of movement from the living room, as though a miniature monsoon had kicked up inside it.

Newt, who had been dozing quite comfortably in a nearby armchair, toppled to the floor with a yelp of surprise, his dark hair mussed and jutting at awkward angles.

“What was that?” he piped in a frightened squeak, as Anathema staggered up and bolted for the lounge. She grabbed a knife from the drawer on her way, prepared to smite whatever occult force had dared to intrude on her home.

But she needn’t have bothered.

While the entity was most certainly of the occult variety, he was rather soft for a demon. Not to mention a friend.

Crowley stood in a glowing circle of dark energy amid a maelstrom of floating embers that had once been fragments of beige carpet. Hastily, he patted himself, trying to snub the kindling flames on his tatted clothes.

“Crowley, what happened?” hissed Anathema, hurrying over to him, brow furrowed with concern. She crinkled her nose at the approach. He reeked of sulphur.

The demon simply shook his head, the sound of a soft jingle accompanying the motion. The young witch frowned, and as the final swathes of black smoke cleared, she could feel her eyes beginning to water with the righteous pressure of barely contained laughter.

Crowley looked ragged; his dark shades gone to reveal golden irises enlarged with fear. He was tugging at a strap of black leather clamped around his neck; gazing about wildly as though the devil himself were in hot pursuit.

“I need a place to lie low for a few hours… maybe a few days._”_ He garbled breathlessly, before turning to the occultist in panic. “I don’t have time to explain!”

“Oh, really?” Anathema quirked an eyebrow, unable to stop a sniggering bark from exiting her lips. “I take Aziraphale opened the Madame’s gift then?”

Crowley stopped, his face an unsightly pink as he narrowed his eyes.

“So, you knew about thissss?!” he snarled, anger flaring beneath the terror, an unintentional hiss slipping. “Did… did Aziraphale…?”

Anathema shook her head, eyes streaming at the demon’s floundering. He seemed positively startled, more like an enraged kitten than an entity who had quite literally slithered up from the depths of Hell.

Crowley opened his mouth in a nasty grimace, about to say something more – when a soft, glittering light shimmered in the air between them. He drew his head up sharply; the instinctual tilt of a frightened rabbit; and took off in the direction of the small corridor.

“Aziraphale is coming. Tell him I’m not here, Anathema!” he yelled urgently, fumbling his way past a very quizzical Newt who had appeared in the doorway, finally sensing that they were in no real danger.

He cast a pondering look at the witch, his words tumbling.

“Was that Crowley? With…? He pointed to his neck, indicating the collar.

Anathema let out a raucous laugh despite herself. She knew she should feel the least bit of sympathy for the flustered demon, but she couldn’t stop herself envisioning the wicked serpent of Eden; the one who had tempted humanity to indulge in the euphoria of sin; so desperately _scared._

Suddenly, there was a loud pop, like the snapping of a cork. The two humans twisted back, tremoring as the air itself seemed to crackle with the buzzing exuberance of electricity that was usually reserved for the moments preceding a lightning strike.

Then came a bright, blinding shaft of light, ratcheting from floor to ceiling. Newt gasped as Anathema raised an arm to shield her eyes - and, with the suddenness of thunder cracking across the heavens, Aziraphale stood before them. He was glowing; a vibrant portrayal of the figures etched in the pages of holy texts.

For the briefest of instants, Anathema understood why Crowley had seemed so terrified.

“My dears, I deeply apologise for the unexpected intrusion.” began the angel politely, reaching to place a reassuring palm against Anathema’s elbow. “I truly did not mean to drop in on you like this.”

And just like that, the young witch relaxed. The blinding deity that had towered before them but seconds ago had transformed; replaced by a short, soft man with kind eyes and pale blond curls. He fidgeted nervously, gazing down at the tips his neatly polished shoes.

“I don’t know quite what happened, but I need to see Crowley. I think I may have upset him somehow.” He murmured faintly, lifting his head to gaze at the two humans with wide, saddened eyes. “I tracked him here after he disappeare—oh, oh dear.”

Aziraphale tapped a hand to his mouth, noticing the smouldering patch of singed carpet beside him, still lightly smoking in the wake of the demon’s arrival. He miracled it fixed with a snap of his fingers, looking awfully apologetic.

“I see he’s passed through here then. It’s rather unlike him to leave such a mess.” He turned away from the now-restored carpet, blue eyes pleading. “You two didn’t happen to see where he went, did you?”

For a moment, the stupefied couple simply stared. Newt, wanting to honourably adhere to Crowley’s wishes, was the first to pipe up.

“Nope. We didn’t see him. Not at all! We thought maybe he’d—”

“He’s down there.” Anathema interrupted, stabbing a thumb pointedly over her shoulder, much to her partner’s disapproval. “Probably hiding in the linen closet or under the bed. Feel free to have a look around.”

Aziraphale tipped his head graciously in thanks, his face still wrought with concern as he headed out in search of the missing demon.

“What was that?!” Newt whispered as soon as he was sure Aziraphale was no longer in earshot. “I thought Crowley said—”

“I’m not lying to an angel.” Anathema hissed severely, a fiendish curl to her lip. “Besides, do you seriously want to get on Aziraphale’s bad side?”

Newt considered this before replying. “No. No, I suppose not.”

***

Crowley was unbearably warm, and not in a pleasant, sun-kissed kind of way. He had wedged himself in an uncomfortable nook behind an ancient boiler, the rapidly heating metal nipping at his skin.

He’d sensed the angel’s approach a short while ago, but had not felt the echoes of his presence being whisked away to a different location, which meant that Aziraphale was probably still inside the cottage.

_Surely Anathema wouldn’t have sold him out… had she?_

Crowley gulped nervously, daring himself to risk a peep though the small gap in the door. Sure enough, the angel was walking with determined steps down the hall… and making a solid venture in Crowley’s direction.

He drew back with a squeak, moulding his scrawny frame even deeper into the hide. _What would Aziraphale do if he found him? Crowley couldn’t simply galivant off to hell to lay low for a few decades, not anymore; nor was there a place on Earth were the angel would not eventually catch up to him. Perhaps he could flee to Alpha Centauri for a few months? After all, it was supposed to be lovely this time of year—_

The tapping of shoes just outside the door snatched Crowley’s attention. He coiled, breath hitching as he waited for the angel to wedge open the crack.

“Where have you run off to, fiend?” Aziraphale called.

He sounded concerned, but there was an edge of annoyance in his tone. _Or was it… anger? _The demon shuddered at the thought.

“Come on out, Crowley! The sooner you do, the quicker we can get back to the bookstore and have a firm chat about whatever is bothering you.”

_Alpha Centauri it is then!_ Crowley thought despairingly to himself, the prospect of an autumn spent floating amid the stars starting to sound all the more appealing. He had already begun to sweat; the heat of the boiler practically unbearable now, as though trying to flush him out into the open. He gritted his teeth…

…and, as if by fate, a large, disgruntled spider plopped onto his nose.

Crowley was not one to be easily spooked, at least, not by temperamental arachnids taking a shine to his face. This was, however, no ordinary day; and he was feeling positively on-edge.

A shriek exited his mouth. He lurched back, twisting his head to fling off the diabolical little creature - the jingling of the collar ringing out in his thrashing. Exposed skin kissed at the metal, scalding it raw. He screeched.

Hiding place thwarted, Crowley had just enough time to conjure up some last-minute transportation before Aziraphale flung open the door.

…He did not get far.

***

“What the heck was that?” Anathema’s voice carried down the corridor as she rushed toward Aziraphale, who stood rigid, head stuck in the boiler closet.

“I was certain I heard Crowley in here.” He replied after a moment, pulling away, his cheeks rosy from the sweltering heat of the old, metal machine. “He… he must have moved himself, just before I...”

The angel went quiet, looking miserably wounded. “It’s like he’s _trying_ to get away from me.”

Anathema bit her lip, sealing off the words threatening to pour from her lips. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him. Aziraphale would probably flatline out of embarrassment… that is, if angels even could, in fact, die.

“Why don’t you have some tea?” she offered after a moment, walking away as she tried terribly hard to compose herself. “I’m sure Crowley will show up sooner or later…”

Anathema paused, glancing back at the angel who now hovered at the doorway to the master bedroom. He wore a strangely quizzical look; small frown lines creasing at the edges of his mouth.

“Aziraphale?” Anathema called, taking a tentative step toward him, but the principality did not so much as budge.

“My dear, when… did you get a pet snake?” Aziraphale asked, pointing to a large, glass vivarium constructed atop a fold-up table. Inside it was a sleek and rather familiar-looking serpent, outfitted with black scales and a crimson-red underbelly. There was something clasped around its neck.

Anathema joined Aziraphale in the doorway and sighed. The snake lifted his head, gazing at her with deep, pleading eyes more reminiscent of a puppy than a reptile.

The witch smiled slyly; a streak of diabolical savagery inherited from Agnes herself.

“Oh, I _don’t.”_ she said, prompting the serpent to let out an antagonising hiss. She could practically hear the word _‘traitor’_ slipping off his small, forked tongue.

A second later and Aziraphale was reaching into the vivarium, attempting to get a grip on the slippery demon.

“Now Crowley, whatever has gotten into you?” he huffed, unsuccessfully working to pry the snake from a coconut shell. Crowley rattled his tail in warning, thrashing wildly as Aziraphale scooped him from his den. “If it’s the choker that’s bothering you, I can take it off! Perhaps Madame Tracy left you something else you’d prefer? There was quite a bit in there, dear.”

Crowley gave a horrified little squeak, wiggling all the more furiously in the angel’s grasp. His serpentine curves took new shape, expanding into protruding limbs that flung out and clawed at the wall, latching to it like a gecko scuttling desperately upwards.

“Oh no, you don’t!” groaned Aziraphale, yanking at the demon’s shirt, but Crowley was already one step ahead of him. He clambered to the ceiling and stuck there, back pressed against the wooden beams for support. He panted hard; his slitted pupils swollen enough to look almost human in nature.

“Anthony J Crowley, get off of Anathema’s ceiling this instant!” chided Aziraphale, folding his arms across his chest. His blue eyes squinted up at the demon, adopting a steely edge of exasperation.

Crowley simply shook his head, unsheathing demonic claws to dig into the timber.

In the corner of the room, Anathema could no longer contain the hilarity of what she was seeing. She bent double, chocolate brown hair bobbing with giggling hiccups of laughter.

“Now see here!” the angel continued crossly, motioning to the young occultist, a look of sheer panic wrinkling the softness of his cherubim features. “You’re making her upset!”

Crowley cast a sceptical eye in Anathema’s direction, an annoyed growl bubbling at the back of his throat. “Oh, she’s not crying, angel! She’s—"

Aziraphale jumped, seizing his chance at the moment of distraction. He pinned the hem of the demon’s sleeve.

Crowley yelped as he plummeted helplessly downward; right into Aziraphale’s awaiting arms. They fastened around him in a tight squeeze as he landed.

“Got you, you wily, old serpent.” Aziraphale breathed, glaring at Crowley with enough firmness to crumble stone. “I think you have caused quite enough mischief for one day. We are going home. _Now.”_

Crowley gulped as the retired guardian of Eden half-carried, half-dragged him into the living room. The demon clawed at the edges of the walls in protest as they strode down the corridor, leaving long, wretched gouges in the brickwork that Aziraphale quickly miracled away.

Anathema trailed after them, face sodden with tears swollen from laughing. She cast a reassuring wink at Newt who scurried out of the way as the group approached, allowing Aziraphale to bundle himself and a panicked-looking Crowley into the centre of the space, almost exactly on the spot in which they’d entered.

“Again, I am so sorry.” Aziraphale grumbled, adjusting his grip around Crowley, who continued to squirm. “I truly have no idea on what’s gotten him so riled. It seems Tracey’s gift did not tame him at all!”

He frowned at the demon, whose face was starting to burn a bright, bloodied pink.

“We are going to have a serious talk when we get back about respecting other people’s things.” He added, rather aghast. He passed his gaze over Anathema apologetically. “I’ve cleaned up the damage I’ve seen, but if you find anything else, do let me know.”

The two humans nodded, unphased.

“It’s absolutely fine.” beamed Anathema, offering a small, nonchalant wave of her hand. “Come back and visit soon, whenever you can.”

She stopped and stooped down, until her face was parallel to Crowley’s, still pinned against the angel’s chest. She quirked a devilish grin.

“And behave yourself for Aziraphale, _dear boy…_

Crowley bristled at the words. He opened his mouth, fangs bared and anger flaring as a twinkling, ivory light surrounded him. “Oh, you _absolute _bassssstar—”

He was cut off as both he and Aziraphale warped into the grow, disappearing with the crackling pop of dying embers; the aftermath of a sparkler on Bonfire Night.

The room fell silent.

Anathema was the first to break. She lunged for the telephone, gasping for breath between chortling little hiccups. She could barely find the words as she pulled up a directory and dialled the name topping the list of contacts under T.

The line hummed for a few seconds before a woman’s voice pleasantly answered.

“Hi, Tracy, it’s Anathema.” The occultist garbled, unable to hide the smile in her tone; hands shaking as she thwarted control over her bumbling emotions.

“I think you’ll need to extend that honeymoon of yours. There’s word on the street that a particular demon may have it out for you when you return to London…”

***

**Author's Note:**

> And yes, Anathema is a complete and utter bassssstard in this fic! XD


End file.
